Blitzkrieg
by CitySleep
Summary: She sits perfectly still, a wraith surrounded by a sea of red, eyes burning with something that Tom knows far too well. GW/TR, in a violent sort of way. AU. Oneshot


When Mrs. Cole refuses, her lips are thin and her eyes are hard. When she sees him, she sees Billy Stubb's rabbit hanging from the rafters, it's body limp and useless, swaying with the wind. She sees sweet little Amy, ashen-face and silent, sticking her fingers into her porridge and staring at them in horror.

She hands him back the blank character assessment form the way one thrusts forward a sword, aiming for his heart.

But even at eleven, Tom had anticipated that would try some form of pitiful retribution for the years of hell he's dragged her though. He isn't worried.

He still has half a year to apply to Hogwarts Academy.

* * *

It takes Tom six weeks to notice Ginny Weasley. She's wholly unremarkable- small, sniveling and dirty. She drags dirt everywhere she goes, her sticky little fingers leaving prints on all the windows as she presses her face against the panes and scans the street for her dead brothers.

If anything, she's a horrible nuisance, bringing in dust from the streets that he'll inevitably have to clean off his shoes as she runs away from , sprinting through the corridor with the ease that only small children seem to have. She evades the matron every day, and Tom is sick enough of the ruckus that he considers scaring her straight but before he has the chance to, decides to dole out a special punishment.

Even at seven years old, Ginny has beautiful hair. It falls down to her back and the color reminds Tom of the time he broke Dennis' nose, the dark, rich liquid running freely over his hands. He imagines her parents must have been proud of a little girl with hair like that. They probably brushed it for her every night before bed. He can picture her mother buying her ribbons and weaving them carefully into plaits, an adorable little princess for them to coo at.

Mrs. Cole knows it too.

She sits Ginny down in the middle of the kitchen on a hard wooden chair, and when she comes around with the kitchen shears Ginny screams and fights and two of the older children hold her down while the scissors open and close, open and close, spitting venomous words that seem out of place on a grown woman chastising a small girl. By the end of it Ginny has stopped screaming. She sits perfectly still, a wraith surrounded by a sea of red, eyes burning with something that Tom knows far too well.

"If you want to act like a horrid little boy, you might as well look like one too." The silence is oppressive. The children who came to watch the spectacle shuffle uneasily, cowed, unsure of what to make of this brutal display of power as the little girl tentatively reaches up to feel the loss.

"Now, say 'thank you', Ginevra."

He's never seen the little hellion so still. She looks straight ahead and whispers a toneless 'thank you' to no one in particular. Satisfied, the old biddy shoos all the children away, leaving little Ginny alone on her chair, a small witch burning at the pillar of her mistakes.

He crosses her the next evening as he's on his way to try and jimmy the cupboards. She's holding vigil by the kitchens. He pays no attention to her.

That is, until he's awakened a few hours later by the screaming of adults and children alike.

The house is on fire.

* * *

Tom Riddle knows an opportunity when he sees one. He's placed with her because he specifically requests it.

"I look out for her." He says, pity in his voice. "She used to have six brothers, and now…" He looks down pointedly at his shoes and makes a show of shuffling around uncomfortably.

The new home isn't much better than the previous, but is softer around the edges than and there are fewer children, which suits Tom just fine. The most important thing is that he's anonymous here, and he makes a point of helping the little ones tie their shoelaces whenever someone is there to see it and volunteering to wipe the tables after meals.

Most importantly, he spends time with Ginevra. She is absolutely awful, all innocent questions and loud shrieks and no regard for personal space. She climbs onto his back and he resists the urge to bash her skull into the pavement and forces the semblance of a smile onto his face.

She almost ruins it all when the bombs fall and everyone is rushing to the relative safety of the underground. She's rooted to the ground, staring up at the dark sky in reverence as the distant glow of Grindelwald's forces shine like fireflies overhead. Tom wants to run, leave her there to meet with the destruction she worships so fervently, but screams his name and points at the girl, so Tom runs in the opposite direction of where he _should_ be going and slings Ginny onto his back. She digs her fingers into his neck, terrified, and leaves bleeding half crescent marks.

He can't help but think that the little idiot has proved herself useful once again when he receives not one but _three_ letters of recommendation for his Hogwarts application.

Tom receives his acceptance two weeks later.

* * *

She cries, predictably, and begs him to write. He hugs her and promises he will, making a mental prayer that the next air raid actually hits its target.

Hogwarts is perfect. He has a mind for war, and excels at everything that's thrown at him. The teachers adore him and the students fall in line behind him. The only professor who isn't singing his praises is the ex-general Dumbledore. Scotland is supposed to be neutral, but Tom can see that Dumbledore's more involved than he lets on. The man scrutinizes him ever since he gave a perfectly logical answer to an illogical problem.

"That's more than four thousand civilians lives, Tom." Dumbledore looks like someone just told him his pet bird died. Tom finds him disgustingly sentimental.

"I've put that into my calculations, sir. The math evens out." He keeps his voice neutral, bland. This is why they're at Hogwarts, any other professor would be thrilled with his answer. He has to fight to keep a sneer from forming on his face.

The lesson continues, but Dumbledore keeps an annoyingly close eye on him after that. Still, the year goes by well, and before he knows it he's packing up his bags to go back to London for the summer. is waiting for him at the train stop, along with Ginny, and he throws his arms around the little girl in a carefully rehearsed move.

Professor Dippet beams at him from across the platform.

* * *

"Tom, do you reckon I'll make it into Hogwarts?"

For his sake, he hopes not. He's only got two more years left and the last thing he wants is to have to deal with her any more than he has to.

They're laying outside in the grass. All of the children have been evacuated to the countryside, and as a result he's spending his summer at a posh manor some do-gooder lord has opened up for the orphans.

"Even if you do," He says carefully, "you should go to Beauxbatons. It's a very reputable school, and much more suitable for a young women like yourself. Did I tell you there's only two girls in my alchemy class?"

"But Tom!" She whines. It grates on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. "I want to stay with you! And anyways…" she picks at invisible fluff on her dress, "the girls there are all so… so, well, _girly_."

What she means to say is all the girls at Beauxbatons are rich, pampered little snobs. He looks at her. At eleven, Ginny is a pretty, athletic child. He guesses she'll be gorgeous when she's older. Gorgeous, yes, but still poor as dirt.

"Trust me, Ginevra. As someone who has your best interests at heart, I think you'll fit in better at Beauxbatons. You'll make friends and have a much easier time there than at Hogwarts."

She smiles adoringly at him and Tom holds back a snicker.

She's going to get eaten alive at Beauxbatons.

* * *

Cygnus Black holds his gaze across the dinner table and holds the smug silence. Tom's smile is tight, strained to the point of shattering. He spears an asparagus delicately, imagining the expensive silver embedding itself into its host's finger the same way.

"I assure you, I have no links to any of my family. I assumed Amycus had informed you." He says the last bit with dripping acidity, and Carrow recoils visibly. He'll be paying for this later.

The idiot mumbles something about the loo and runs away, leaving Tom alone with Black. The older man takes his time, rolling an apple between his palms as he considers at Tom.

Finally, he says, "We would be willing to _overlook_ your background if you were to _deal_ with it appropriately."

It's incredible how unsubtle these men are, Tom thinks. How they believe they'll succeed at anything with methods so crude and heavy handed is beyond him. No wonder they still haven't taken London. It's pathetic.

But it will work to his advantage in the end. He's not truly looking to join Grindelwald, afterall. He's here to take advantage of the fog of war.

 _Dīvide et imperā._

* * *

"I don't know if I can, Tom."

She looks up at him with baited breath.

 _Patience,_ he thinks as he imagines wrapping her lovely little throat in his hands and squeezing the life out of her. Instead, he leans forward and tucks a piece of stray hair behind her ear. She blushes crimson red.

Ah. This he can work with.

"Am I not your best friend?" He injects his voice with warmth, let's his hand run through her hair. "I wouldn't ask anyone else Ginevra. You're the only one I trust."

It's too easy the way she melts into his hands. At twelve, she's still disgustingly naive. He goes for the kill.

"It's okay. I just thought I would ask. I've always been able to count on you…." He lets his breath trail off into her hair and kisses the top of her head. "Don't worry about it."

He spins on his heel and walks away.

One.

Two.

Thr-

"Wait! Tom!" She runs up to him and goes to take his hand as she did many times before, as a child, but stops herself. He's sure he radiates smugness even as she looks up at him with a glowing smile. "Of course I'll help you. You're my best friend. And best friends help each other."

He grasps her hand and threads his fingers through hers, pleased. Ginny refuses to meet his eyes but beams at the ground.

"Always." He purrs.

* * *

She really does deserve to die for how shockingly stupid she is, Tom muses. She eats every lie he feeds her, and it's almost charming how willing she is to murder an entire family for his sake.

Love. How nauseating.

The gasoline fumes are strong and the house goes up in flames. He imagines his filthy father choking on the smoke, clawing desperately at his throat and feels a rushing sense of pride. He's dreamed about this moment for so long, and his only regret is not seeing the light vanish from his father's eyes in person.

He can't risk being associated with the crime though, not with Grindelwald's little sycophants breathing down his neck. Everything hangs in the balance.

He feels no regret as he moves the boulder in front of the door.

Tom can't be linked to this. It feels poetic, really. A fiery death for the firestarter.

The stars twinkle above him, as he drives down the path back to the little village. Inside the house, a girl screams, banging on the door with her small fists. He thinks he can hear his name being called, so he turns up the radio.

* * *

It's funny how the more you rise through the ranks, the more parties you have to attend, Tom thinks as he folds his hands behind his back and observes the scene. Five years ago, they would have thrown him out onto the streets. Now, the guests mill around him, anxious to meet the famous Tom Riddle. Only Grindelwald is more in demand, and the man is so paranoid that no one can get within ten feet of him.

He's pulled out of his thoughts as Rodolphus Lestrange introduces him to his wife, a very busty, flirty brunette- _Bellatrix-_ who seems keen on making her interest in him known even though her husband is standing next to her. He's amused, mostly by the pinched look on Rodolphus' face as his wife leans forward to display her ample cleavage.

"-And to think, she's completely penniless! Wonderful manners though, all Beauxbatons girls are raised properly, so we do approve, and they'll make wonderful children."

"I beg your pardon?" Her words wash over him like an ice cold bucket of water.

Bellatrix doesn't notice or doesn't mind his rude interruption, and continues.

"The bride, young Molly! To be honest, we were very worried about Draco, given his relationship with his father. The boy has the most liberal ideas, and he was bringing around that wretched Granger girl for the longest time. I believe his father beat some sense into him though, we can't be disgracing the Malfoy name after all."

She smiles, leaning conspiratorially into him, oblivious to Tom stiffening as her words register.

"But what am I saying, I don't want you to think badly of poor Abraxas!" She giggles falsely into the back of her hand.

"And where would I find the bride?" He grinds out. There's that creeping feeling, that feeling of realising you left the oven on at home. "I have a gift I'd like to give her before she makes the walk down the aisle."

Bellatrix is completely oblivious.

"Oh, she's getting ready upstairs, I believe Abraxas went up to check in on her a little while ago." She bats her eyelashes at him. "I'd be happy to show you the room, if you'd like?"

He looks over at Rodolphus and resists the urge to shiver in disgust. Rodulphus' ears are a dull shade of red and he is looking at pointedly across the room. What a pathetic man.

"I'll be alright, thank you. Rodolphus. Until we meet again" He kisses the back of her hand. She giggles again, a high pitched tinkling.

His hand twitches. He's killed people for less. Luckily for her, he has more pressing things to attend to.

* * *

It's rare that anything ever shocks him. Tom likes to think he lives his life prepared for anything and everything. All's fair in love and war, and Tom doesn't do the first and he lives for the second.

However, on the second floor of an opulent villa in Germany, Tom gets two shocks.

The first is that Ginevra Weasley is somehow very much alive and about to wed Draco Malfoy, son of Abraxas Malfoy, member of Grindelwald's inner circle.

The second is that she's apparently fucking Abraxas Malfoy.

He keeps to the shadows and watches through the door that's been left ajar as the elder Malfoy whispers words in her ear, his arms encircling her waist from behind.

She's become beautiful, as he had predicted, and nothing like the young girl he once knew. The combination of Malfoy money and Beauxbatons creed have turned her into something sharp, elegant, something that catches and rips you when you least expect it.

The elder Malfoy hitches up her wedding gown, revealing slender legs and soft white knickers. His fingers skirt past the waistband, teasing. Tom watches as Ginevra's chest rises and falls rapidly. She leans against Malfoy and he can just make out the words-

"-am I supposed to call you father now?" She asks with wicked amusement, and Abraxas makes a loud noise of satisfaction.

"You'll be the death of me." He murmurs into her hair.

Tom's mind goes blank as Ginevra mewles, a strange sound that rings false to his ear. He has the urge to make his presence known, to scare them both, but he's rooted to the spot.

"I have to get ready-" She protests breathlessly as Abraxas undos his trousers.

"My darling, we both know Draco won't be fucking an heir into you tonight."

Tom steps aside and knocks. The last thing he wants is to hear them rutting like animals.

There's a thick silence in the room, interrupted by the sound of Malfoy pulling up his trousers and something metallic being passed.

"Come to my study afterwards. I'll be waiting."

Then the door opens.

"Tom!" Abraxas exclaims, a false cheer in his voice. "So glad you could make it. I was just having a little chat with Molly here. Such a wonderful addition to our family."

Tom blinks. That's one way of putting it.

"Molly," The name twists in his mouth. "I don't believe we've met."

Ginevra smiles, all saccharine sweetness. She doesn't start, doesn't look at him like the devil incarnate that tried to burn her alive or the god she once followed so faithfully. She looks at him with thinly veiled boredom, just another guest to indulge.

He's impressed. Growth, then.

"No, I don't believe we have. Molly, Molly Prewett. Well, soon to be Malfoy, I suppose." She looks up coyly at Abraxas, who winks.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted, I have some business to attend to." Malfoy shuffles out, nodding at Tom and throwing another wink at Ginevra.

The temperature in the room suddenly drops several degrees.

"So." Tom cocks his head, observing her. She imitates him. " _Molly,_ is it?"

" _Voldemort_ , is it?" She mocks. He freezes. That's a name few are privy to.

For the first time in years, Tom isn't sure how to play the situation. There's recognition in her eyes now, but it's dismissive. She's looking at him like something she figured out a long time ago, a disappointing puzzle. Fury boils inside of him. He _made_ her.

"I should have killed you properly." He says it softly.

"Yes," She agrees, "You should have."

She turns her back to him and gestures to her gown.

"Help me with the buttons?"

He takes a step forward and brushes the back of his knuckles against her spine, considering. He could snap her neck, leave her crumpled in silk. Or he could clamp his hand over her mouth, watch her struggle for air as she writhes against him. He finds himself shivering pleasantly at the idea. Her body taut and hands clawing at his throat, lips turning blue even as she draws blood. Maybe if she fights hard enough, sinks her teeth into his hand, he'll let go, and she'll gasp for air and rake her manicured nails down his face. Her hair, her beautiful red hair will flow as freely as the gash on his cheek.

He wants her naked, wild, fighting him. He's not sure which excites him more, her vibrantly alive under him or dead on the floor.

Slowly, methodically, he fastens the pearls and watches her ivory skin disappear under the cream dress.

"Are you trying to seduce me as well, Ginevra?" It occurs to him suddenly. He can't keep the amused lilt out of his voice.

"Tom." She tutts. "I'd like to think I'm smarter than that."

"So would I."

She turns to face him, and he's taken back to that night in the kitchen, that night when the little girl sat through her humiliation, stock still and burning with an emotion so vivid that it didn't possess a name.

"I'll see you downstairs."

He doesn't, of course, and in retrospect it's so obvious and he is so angry, he wants, _needs_ to cut someone open and watch them bleed-

 _Preferably her-_

He doesn't, of course, because he's pinned under the rubble and it seems most of the people around him are either dead or dying, victim to the enormous explosion that just took the building out-

And she appears above him like some terrible, vengeful angel, and isn't it ironic that his thoughts have led him here.

"Hello, Tom." She says pleasantly. "Dumbledore sends his regards."

He nearly spits he's so infuritated-

 _So-_

 _So-_

So scared.

The life is seeping out of him.

Tom Riddle is, perhaps for the first time ever, truly and properly scared that he's going to die.

"You were never going to get married."

"No." She says it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The Malfoy boy. That girl, the other one that Rodolphus' wife mentioned.

"Abraxas' son- Draco. He's a part of this."

"Of course." She smiles indulgently.

Tom pushes against the bannister, to no avail. He grits his teeth.

"Get this off of me."

"No." Like commenting on the weather.

He closes his eyes and thinks back to the girl he knew. Tom is afraid to die, and even though he'll kill her later, he's not above begging if it means getting out of this alive. More flies with honey than vinegar….

"Ginny," he pleads, "weren't we friends once?"

She strokes his head in a parody of love.

"We were, once." Abruptly, she stands up, and dusts off her dress, and offers him one radiant smile before she turns to leave, Persephone condemning his lost soul. "Now we're just even."


End file.
